


Quintessential

by Disco (CatsAndHounds)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/pseuds/Disco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidental all-American fingering</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quintessential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tatsumi (CatsAndHounds)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/gifts).



The scents that assaulted Will as he stepped into the house were both familiar and disconcerting. They tugged at a sense memory somewhere buried far under his conscious mind, one certainly from the days before he'd met Hannibal. He couldn't place what it was that was disconcerting initially, except that the scents were almost plebeian compared to what he'd grown used to dining on while living with Hannibal.

It had been months since they'd fled together. Months of recovery, of assumed names, of getting used to waking up to the sights, sounds, and smells of each other. For Will, it had felt like being reborn. From what he could tell from Hannibal's minute expressions and behavior, it felt to him like his birthday had come every day.

It was flattering, in its way, and it had made growing accustomed to a life together that much easier. Easy enough, apparently, that Will had grown complacent and expected things from Hannibal, like a tendency to insist on ceremony and, of course, complex and flavorful gourmet cooking.

He walked cautiously through the house to the kitchen, half-worried that something had happened specifically to cause this disruption. He wasn't sure what, but he felt his shoulders sag in relief when he turned through the doorway to find no one but Hannibal present, cooking with the same methodical attention to detail he always used, along with a knee-high red dog. The dog sat at a respectful distance from him, utterly fixated on whatever he was preparing.

Hannibal turned to greet him with a smile. "How was your trip?"

Will didn't reply. He'd only gone into town at Hannibal's request; now he suspected the reason was less that they needed specific spices and herbs he wasn't even slightly familiar with and more that Hannibal had wanted him out of the house. He could see then that Hannibal was preparing what appeared to be short ribs, though certainly not from any pig.

Further down the counter, there was a pie cooling. Apple, he guessed. Ribs and apple pie, and suddenly Will realized what day it was.

"I never did much to celebrate the fourth of July," he said, crossing the room to join Hannibal at the counter and scratch behind the dog's ears. "Are you feeding her scraps?"

"I have kept my promise to not feed her any human flesh, if that's what you're asking. She may have had some apple, though." Hannibal glanced briefly at the dog, and then at Will.

Will grinned at him. He knew well enough that Hannibal spoiling his dog was just another way for him to spoil Will, to bring him more small pleasures that only he could truly provide — not unlike preparing an Independence Day feast when they were so far away from the US. He enjoyed it despite the transparent manipulation, and maybe even a little because of it. "Daisy gets enough to eat from what I make her."

Hannibal pursed his lips. There was no point for either of them in arguing the matter; Hannibal would continue to spoil her, though not excessively, and Will would continue to enjoy it. Instead, Hannibal said, "I would have expected greasy barbecue to be a staple of your celebrations, with fireworks and an abundance of red, white, and blue."

Of course, Hannibal could never create a greasy meal himself, Will thought, taking note of the lime, orange, pineapple, and ginger he was adding to the ribs. He had to make his variations on the classics decadent, never letting anyone leave the table with regret.

Well, unless they were opposed to cannibalism. Will wasn't anymore.

"Who are we having?" he asked.

"A tourist who couldn't rein in his tongue in public. An American," he added, as though that was important to the meal, and maybe it was. "He won't be missed for some time."

Will nodded. He trusted Hannibal to have disposed of their tourist discreetly, and often discretely; it wouldn't do for them to let anyone realize the Chesapeake Ripper had settled down in Europe, even temporarily.

"Was it that you were apathetic to the celebrations, or that you were unable to participate?"

Will sighed. He never quite enjoyed recounting his youth to Hannibal, but Hannibal didn't ask especially often, and clearly relished the opportunity to know more about Will. "We didn't have a lot of money or a lot of friends when I was growing up. We traveled too much. When I got older, I had to help out at whatever kind of work my father was doing. Even if I had wanted to participate, he didn't care enough to let me. We focused on Christmas and Easter instead. I didn't even get to see fireworks until I was seventeen."

"What was it like, to experience it for the first time?"

Will huffed out a half-laugh at that. "Memorable, certainly. Not because of the fireworks, though. I missed most of them. I was too busy putting my hand under Lacey Halloran's skirt in the back of a truck."

Hannibal smiled wryly, not taking his eyes off his work. "It sounds like the quintessential American experience."

"It was humiliating, actually." Will shook his head, amused at his teenage self. "I didn't really mean to, but I wound up with my fingers inside of her. I was more surprised than she was; I'd never done anything like that before. She told me to keep going, but I panicked and ruined the moment."

Hannibal still wore his own amusement on his face, openly delighting in Will's story. "Being unsure of oneself during an early sexual experience is fairly typical, of course. I'd say it's still an all-American experience."

Will raised an eyebrow at him. "Lucky thing for you you aren't all American. I can't imagine you ever fumbling with a girl's clothes, or even fingering anyone at all."

Suddenly there was a tense line through Hannibal's body, from his jaw to his hips, subtle but noticeable to Will, who knew people too well and still didn't know Hannibal well enough to understand where it had come from. "What makes you say that?" Hannibal asked, and there was no trace of that tension in his voice.

"You have an undeniable oral fixation." That wasn't just a jab about his gastronomical habits; Hannibal most certainly paid mouths, both his own and others', a certain amount of attention. Will remembered the way Hannibal had watched his mouth while he swallowed an ortolan whole. "Why do manually what you could do orally? Besides, it does tend to feel more... elegant, to most people. Less clumsy. Would you ever let yourself seem clumsy in bed?"

"Not intentionally," Hannibal agreed, but the tension in him hadn't dissipated. Will wondered, for a moment, if he was feeling embarrassed. For all their intimacies, sex had very rarely been a topic of conversation between them. They shared a bed for convenience and comfort and pretended at being a married couple to avoid suspicion, but he had rarely considered Hannibal in a sexual light — not since he'd first thought of him with Alana Bloom, at least.

It occurred to him, then, that he was the one responsible for the conversation, entirely. He'd slipped into it as easily as if they talked about things like sex all the time. Truthfully, sex seemed less intimate than much of what they had done and talked about; it didn't carry the weight of repeatedly facing death together, or of discussing their passion for it. Even so, he found himself blushing slightly, embarrassed at himself for assuming Hannibal would be interested in the subject.

He wondered, despite himself, if Hannibal even enjoyed sex as another of the body's pleasures, like good food and physical exertion, or if it was just another manipulation tool for him. He wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. He wished he found it as easy to cross Hannibal's boundaries and Hannibal had found it to cross his, even when they had first met.

"The ribs have to marinate. They won't be ready until later," Hannibal said, breaking the silence. He wiped his hands off on a cloth, turning to Will. "The pie is for now, unless you object to dessert before dinner."

"Not if you don't," Will answered, and despite his gratitude for the change in subject, he couldn't make himself meet Hannibal's eyes.

-

Hannibal had only raised a token objection to Daisy sleeping in their shared bedroom once, when Will had first brought her home. She was a poodle mix, Will had argued, and her tight, curly coat left little mess. Besides, she was already quite well-trained, and intelligent enough not to press her luck.

And it pleased Will, and Will had found that as long as he was willingly at Hannibal's side, he got many of the little things that pleased him.

Most nights, if Will wasn't the first to bed, he would climb the steep, narrow stairs to find the door open, and Daisy would already be inside, fast asleep in her bed in the corner. Sometimes Hannibal appeared to be asleep; other times he stayed up reading at least until Will slipped into unconsciousness.

Occasionally, though, there were nights when Hannibal retired early, and Will would come up to find the door shut and Daisy sitting outside, waiting patiently for Will to let her in. He didn't think much about it, when it happened; he figured even Hannibal had to get tired on occasion, or that perhaps he just wanted a little time to himself. During the day they occupied one another's space casually, and it was never uncomfortable, but Will took his own opportunities to walk out past their yard now and then, just to let silence fill his head without Hannibal taking up the space there.

Hannibal had gone to bed shortly after they'd finished the shared work of washing the dishes. It was early still, and usually Will wouldn't follow him so quickly, but Hannibal had been oddly quiet while they'd eaten the tourist's ribs, and it had left him unsettled. He had watched Hannibal relaxed by degrees, but not entirely, and it made him want to offer some kind of comfort, though he'd never been particularly good at doing so.

Daisy was waiting for him at the top of the steps, her little puff of a tail wagging the moment she saw him. She was a calm dog, but she still let her eagerness show in some things, and she was always eager to get to bed when either of them did.

She trotted quickly behind him down the short hall, and squeezed into the room the moment he'd cracked the door open, making a beeline for her bed. Will, on the other hand, paused at the door. Normally, if the door was closed, Hannibal would be relaxed, possibly on his way to sleep, by the time Will arrived.

The bedroom was less enormous and opulent than Hannibal's had been in Baltimore, less cramped and quaint than any of Will's had ever been. From the red damask pattern on the walls to the enormous picture window on the far wall, from the enormous, high bed against the wall to the equally enormous rack of antlers hanging over it, Will often felt like he was sleeping inside a picture frame. From the doorway, one had a perfect view of whoever laid in bed.

Hannibal wasn't even feigning sleep yet, and Will felt like he was intruding. Hannibal sat upright, propped against the headboard, with a pale silk sheet modestly covering him to the waist; in the damp heat of summer he'd taken to sleeping in the nude, which Will hadn't minded, but Hannibal had always been sure to cover himself in bed.

With the day's earlier conversation sticking to his mind like flypaper, Will felt entirely too aware of Hannibal's nakedness, and all the more exposed from the way Hannibal was looking right at him.

"This is early for you," Hannibal said, but he drew back the covers on Will's side of the bed with no hesitation.

Will tried not to let his awkwardness show as he went through the motions of undressing to his boxers, dropping his clothes into the laundry hamper in their adjoining bathroom. He had done it dozens of times before, even with Hannibal aware of him, and if asked he wasn't sure he could account for any change in his behavior without admitting he'd been thinking about Hannibal and sex.

Luckily, Hannibal either didn't notice anything wrong or chose not to ask, and Will slipped into bed beside him without incident, leaning over to turn off the bedside lamp.

In the dark, he turned onto his side and reached halfway across the bed. Normally, neither of them would reject the other's touch at night, and it had been a source of comfort to Will, easing his nightmares. He could not even feel Hannibal's back, though, and he drew his hand back, accepting this rejection for the time being.

It took him longer than usual to fall asleep. Will let himself believe it was due to the early hour.

-

On occasion, Will would still sleepwalk. It had happened a few times in his three years without Hannibal, and had happened a few times more since they'd gone on the run. He always woke up panicking, whether he was in the hall or the yard, afraid that his mind was betraying him again.

The last time it had happened, he'd woke up to Hannibal's voice, low and reassuring, coaxing him to awareness. His heart didn't beat as fast, then, and it was all too easy to let Hannibal lead him gently back to bed.

This time, Will was still in bed, but he had a lingering sense that he'd walked somewhere, that his body had been moving without his consent. The smell of Hannibal, the feel of his skin against Will's own, was reassuring, but he was still disoriented, and had to take a moment to deliberately take stock of himself.

Despite Hannibal's earlier distance, they'd turned to each other in sleep, and Will's head was under Hannibal's chin, their upper bodies tipped towards one another. His left arm was between them, his palm and curled fingers brushing against Hannibal's chest. His legs were tangled in the sheets, but one of his knees was wedged between Hannibal's, like he'd been caught.

His right hand was, initially, a source of confusion combined with disbelief. He traced his awareness of his arm down from his shoulder to where his forearm rested on Hannibal's hip, the heel of his hand resting on firm, round flesh, his palm cupped almost to the point of squeezing, and his fingers—

His fingers were pressed into the warm crevasse behind Hannibal's balls, giving him a proper handful of Hannibal's ass. If it had been someone else's hand, he would have immediately called it possessive, and distinctly sexual. Will wasn't hard, but when he tried to move his fingers, he felt as though his stomach was a well into which a rock had been dropped, sending waves of arousal crashing against its sides. He felt both guilty and afraid of its rippling waters.

His middle finger, he found, was just inside Hannibal's body, aided by a familiar, non-biological slickness. Somehow, Hannibal was _lubricated_ , and Will's unconscious mind had discovered and delighted in that.

Shame and humiliation burned through his chest, but, almost convulsively, Will pressed his finger in and then froze, swallowing.

Hannibal's breathing had changed. If he had been asleep at all, he wasn't anymore. "Will?"

The proper response would have been an apology. He should have pulled his hand away, given Hannibal a respectful amount of space, and even offered to leave the bed, at least for the night.

Instead, he pressed his finger further in, and pressed his knee further between Hannibal's.

"You're," he began, and hesitated, licking his lips. His thumb twitched across Hannibal's skin. "You're wet."

Hannibal remained utterly still except for the rise and fall of his chest and the smooth slide of his eyes over Will's face. "You're taking advantage, Will."

"Am I?" It didn't feel like taking advantage, though he knew it would have with anyone else. He opened his eyes, pulling his head back to squint at Hannibal. The light from the digital clock on his side of the bed barely let him see. "You were touching yourself, when I came up to bed."

"I was."

Two words, so small, and yet the confirmation made something swell in Will's chest, made him feel like he was on the verge of bursting. Will would have sworn his arm was trembling, but his fingers were frozen in place, caught between the urge to pull away and leave whatever this was to Hannibal in privacy and some desire he didn't quite recognize to push it further, to see if Hannibal even had limits.

"Usually I'm able to clean up before you join me. You were early tonight." Hannibal shifted his leg, just slightly, opening himself up more, exposing him.

"Do you always do it this way?" Will asked. He looked down, and then back up, directly into Hannibal's open eyes. They practically glowed in the dark. He felt suddenly bold. "Or is this because of me?"

"It's always because of you." Will might have expected some vulnerability in a confession like that, but Hannibal, of course, was only matter-of-fact about it. He shifted again, and his thigh touched Will's. "I don't usually do it this way, though, no. Your story today was unexpected, as was your speculation about my sexual habits. You haven't shown any interest in me sexually before. Not even curiosity."

"I hadn't thought about it," WIll admitted. His left hand still laid against Hannibal's chest, and he brushed the backs of his fingers over warm skin and hair. Hannibal responded by taking that hand in his own, his thumb rubbing Will's wrist. "I'm thinking about it now."

"What are you thinking?"

Will breathed in deeply through his nose, as though he needed extra air to answer him. "I'm wondering if you were really thinking of me when you finished."

Hannibal closed his eyes again, his lips curved into an almost-smile. "I was thinking of you, but I only finished in that I stopped when I heard you coming up the stairs."

Will wished the light between them was better; the light from the clock only barely illuminated Hannibal's features, outlining them just enough for Will to see up close. He wanted to look down between them again, to see if Hannibal was hard. He considered turning on the lamp, but couldn't bring himself to break the points of contact between them. He felt like he was sweating, nervous and on the verge of something that had absolutely no reason to feel so enormous.

He slid his knee up until his thigh dragged over Hannibal's, until he could feel Hannibal's cock against his leg. He was hard — not fully erect yet, but clearly getting there. Will's own cock put in an effort to catch up.

"Oh, God."

Hannibal hooked his own ankle around Will's, locking his leg in place. "How does that make you feel?"

Will's tongue felt dry. It was hard to answer, but he tried, anyway. "Like I'm about to do something significant."

"More significant than killing?" He was practically laughing at him, Will realized. Not out of malice, but out of affection. "Because it's me, or because I am a man?"

Will didn't know. He didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to stop resisting; it never turned out well, where Hannibal was concerned.

Will felt like every part of him was moving at once, springing into action: he nuzzled into Hannibal's face, searching for his mouth, while his left hand squeezed Hannibal's and his right pressed in, slowly. By the time he was two knuckles deep, he was licking into Hannibal's mouth with abandon, tasting his teeth and feeling the weight of Hannibal's desire in the way he gripped his hand back. Hannibal moved his free hand to cup Will's head, burying his fingers in Will's hair and holding him close.

Hannibal met it all with neither surprise nor resistance, as if he'd only been waiting for Will to come to him all along. Will didn't believe that; he'd never seen a hint of it before, knew any secrecy in this was due entirely to a lack of certainty on Hannibal's part, because there was no chance it was shame. He savored Hannibal's mouth, the press of his palm, knowing that in his own way he was giving Hannibal a gift, at least as much as he was taking it for himself.

He pulled his finger almost all the way out of Hannibal's body, felt the involuntary shudder that accompanied the loss, and thrust it back in. Hannibal's body jolted at the sensation, his hips jumping forward just slightly, his cock dragging against Will's thigh. It was a foreign sensation, that press of flesh against him, but Will's body was a sponge, absorbing Hannibal's arousal and spilling it back on him. He moved his finger again, continuously, each time pressing a little deeper, a little rougher.

The tip of his finger passed over a small bump, and Hannibal groaned into his mouth, his own fingers clenching in Will's hair and his hand. Their hips pressed closer, their legs tangling even more, until there was almost no space between them, their joined hands caught between their chests.

Hannibal broke away, and even in the darkness he look flushed. He panted against Will's cheek, pressing his face into the pillow and rolling his hips between Will's hand and Will's leg.

Will realized he was seeing Hannibal utterly overwhelmed. He looked almost as ecstatic, almost as wrung out, as he had after they had killed Dolarhyde together, and he didn't even have the pain of his injury to account for it anymore.

Will pressed his face to Hannibal's, not kissing, just making another place for them to touch. He felt overwhelmed himself. He had not known himself until Hannibal, hadn't known how badly he could want something like this. Being with him, being at his side, had been enough, but already he suspected that knowing what it felt like to touch him, to see him lost to physical pleasure, would leave him wanting it forever.

"When you were doing this to yourself," Will said, his words falling in puffs against Hannibal's jaw, "were you imagining we were in the bed of a truck, ignoring the fireworks?"

"No," Hannibal said, and he didn't sound composed at all anymore. He sounded strained. "I don't want to think of myself as anyone else with you."

Will smiled. He understood the sentiment intimately. "What did you imagine?"

"I pictured us here, in this bed. You watched me touch myself, and then you took over."

Will breathed out slowly. "I might like to watch you. I'm not sure what else I'd want yet, though. I'm feeling a little underprepared."

"It's not a test," Hannibal said, "but if you're like assistance, in my fantasy this was merely preparation. If you think you would enjoy it, I would like you to fuck me."

Will's cock jerked at that, his hips kicking forward roughly. His cock pressed against Hannibal's stomach through the fabric of his boxers, and he rubbed himself there, arhythmic shocks of pleasure shooting through of his groin. He felt like his breath had been stolen.

He wondered how it was possible that he'd never considered this before. This, with Hannibal, as though they weren't sharing every part of themselves already. He had never particularly missed sex when he went without it, felt almost as though it was too difficult, or that he was unworthy of it, but with Hannibal, neither could be true.

Will shed his remaining shame and humiliation like a skin, crushing his mouth to Hannibal's again and thrusting against his firm belly while he rubbed clumsily at his prostate. He moved his thigh in counterpoint to Hannibal's thrusts, relishing the trails of precome left on his skin, the low groans Hannibal couldn't help but let out. He turned away from the kiss, letting Hannibal mouth at his cheek, and pulled his finger out of him.

Hannibal's frustrated sigh nearly stopped him, but he sat up slightly instead, pressing on Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal let go of him reluctantly, but stretched out as Will urged him to, his head pillowed on his arms and one leg raised slightly, exposing his hole, shining with lubrication.

Will reached over to switch the lamp on. He shuffled lower on the bed, sucking his index finger into his mouth and coating it with spit. He could taste a hint of the lubricant, but it wasn't enough to put him off. He put his other hand on Hannibal's hip, leaning over him slightly.

"Is it really necessary to change positions right now?" Hannibal asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. It was almost as irritated as Will had ever heard him sound.

"Strictly speaking, no." Will licked his lips, spreading Hannibal's cheeks and feeling blood rise to his face and drop to his groin simultaneously. The light was still dim, but he could see enough. His boxers were growing damp where the head of his cock pressed against them, but he didn't touch himself. He only wanted to touch Hannibal. "I just want to see this up close."

Pressing his index and middle finger together, each slick with different fluids, he pushed them against Hannibal's hole. Even with both of them, there wasn't much resistance; Hannibal was relaxed and, despite his state, more or less in control of his body. Will's fingers sunk into him smoothly, and he didn't stop pressing in until they were as far as they could go, the backs of his other fingers right up against Hannibal's perineum and balls. As he withdrew them, he sought out Hannibal's prostate, dragging the pads of his fingers over it roughly. The resultant moan urged him into high gear, thrusting his fingers in and out fast, hard, and mercilessly.

Without Will lying beside him, Hannibal had nothing but the bed to thrust into, and he had to twist his hips to manage even that. Nonetheless, he tried, pressing forward into the sheets and back, with more vigor, onto Will's fingers. He spread his legs further, rolled until he was nearly on his front, but that gave him less leverage, made his movements sloppier, losing his careful control. Will could see his fingers digging into the bedding by his head, could tell he was breaking apart.

It was one of the loveliest things he could remember seeing.

And yet, when he heard his name croaked desperately into Hannibal's forearm, he sacrificed the sight of it for the feel of Hannibal against him again. He laid himself flat on the bed, curled against Hannibal's side, and touched Hannibal's face with his free hand. He couldn't thrust as quickly or as deep into Hannibal from the new angle, but it was worth it, to see the way Hannibal looked at him. It was raw adoration, without any of the barriers Hannibal normally put up, and without anything holding him back.

It was almost as good as killing, and as he kissed him, Will thought Hannibal tasted almost as good as blood.

Hannibal twisted himself again so he could better face Will, nearly in their original position once more, and Will took the opportunity to press his leg back between Hannibal's, to give him something to thrust against once more. Hannibal took that opportunity as though losing it again was a frightening idea, pressing up against him so hard Will couldn't imagine it wasn't verging on painful. Hannibal put one hand around Will's back, pulling him closer.

Will bit at Hannibal's lip, harder than he thought he meant to. Hannibal moaned helplessly, and Will pressed his fingers into him harder, using his palm to urge him forward, against his leg. Hannibal came, wet and messy, against his thigh, and Will had to turn his head away, dazed by the reflections of Hannibal's ecstasy.

He slid his fingers free of Hannibal's hole, pulling them over skin to leave a slick trail over his ass. He kissed him again, sucking at the lip he'd bitten, not soothing but prolonging the sting. Hannibal's hips gave one last aborted twitch, and then he pulled away from Will, moving in one sinuous, lazy motion down the bed until he had his face buried in the space where Will's hip met his leg. His breath was hot and shockingly good over the wet spot in Will's boxers, and he stayed there a moment, just breathing.

Will was eager to come, feeling as desperate for it as though he'd been waiting as long as Hannibal had, but he didn't push, didn't so much as press his hips forward. He waited, instead, to see what Hannibal would give him.

Hannibal breathed in deeply, and Will realized he was smelling him, smelling himself _on_ Will, the mixing of their scents with the aroma of sex. The thought of it made his cock twitch, a little more fluid dampening his boxers. A lazy, predatory grin stretched Hannibal's lips, and he bent just a little further down, opening his mouth to put his tongue to Will's leg, just above his knee.

In slow, thorough licks, Hannibal cleaned Will's thigh of his come, and as Will watched him a thready whine escaped him. Even the inside of his thigh felt electric with sensation, and each pass of Hannibal's tongue felt like it continued straight up until it reached behind Will's eyes.

When there was only saliva left to wet Will's skin, Hannibal pushed him onto his back, leaning over his legs. He kissed the shaft of Will's cock through his boxers, then parted his lips and mouthed at it before drawing up to the head and sucking, hard enough that it almost seemed as though he wanted to break through the fabric to get to skin. Will's hips jumped, and he nearly apologized, but as far as he could tell Hannibal didn't mind at all; he moved his head just so, still sucking but not letting himself be pushed into taking more.

Will forced himself to settle. Once he was flat on the bed again, his hips only twitching slightly under Hannibal's ministrations, Hannibal released his cock. It was only a brief pause, not quite long enough for Will to think about raising a protest, as he hooked his fingers into the waist of Will's boxers and pulled them to his thighs. As soon as Will's cock was exposed, rising into the air, Hannibal took it back into his mouth, sucking at the head with at an indulgently slow pace.

Will's toes curled as he fought the urge to thrust up, his head tipping back and rolling to the side. He felt sweat beading up on his skin, felt his heart drum against his chest like it wanted to escape. He'd had plenty of blowjobs in his life, some even drawn-out like this one, but it had lacked the teasing element they'd had, and they hadn't even had Hannibal.

Hannibal, who had wanted a taste of Will for so long, and was finally getting it.

Hannibal, who was sliding his big hands underneath Will, gripping his ass and pulling him up into his mouth as he took more and more of his cock, until his nose was pressed into Will's pubic hair. He didn't protest as Will hooked a leg around his back, nor when he buried his hands in his hair, trying desperately both to get more and to not thrust and utterly determined to not let Hannibal let go of him.

Over and over Hannibal sucked him deep, drawing up to the head of his cock to lick at his frenulum and slit expertly before slowly, slowly sinking back down. At first, Will was afraid the pace would leave him teetering on the edge of orgasm until he couldn't bear it anymore, but although Hannibal was taking his time — and quite clearly enjoying himself, from the his little noises of pleasure mixed with Will's strangled, too-loud groans — Will felt the waves of it rising in him like an unstoppable force. He almost wished he could hold off longer, but as pleasure rolled out to his fingertips, his toes, his ears, he knew there was no stopping it, and he was grateful.

"Hannibal." He tried to say more, but the words caught in his throat, coming out as wordless gasps. He could only repeat himself: "Hannibal."

Whether or not Hannibal understood his intention, he was prepared, pulling back as Will began to come. He let some of it hit his tongue before he pulled off entirely and moved one hand from Will's ass to stroke him through it. When Will's body began to settle, he licked up the come he hadn't already swallowed, as he had with his own, bathing Will like an enormous cat. He looked, Will thought, about as pleased as one, though he could hardly keep his eyes open to see.

He felt Hannibal settle in next to him, sheets forgotten. Will fumbled with his boxers, kicking them off; he was sure Hannibal wouldn't be pleased that he had left them at the end of the bed in the morning, but for the time being they were both content, curling into each other's bodies.

"Was that an acceptably patriotic experience?" Hannibal asked, just before Will lost his last thread of consciousness through the night.

Will hummed into his shoulder, trying to trace the logic of the question. It took him a moment, as tired as he was. "It was a little too..." He trailed off, the words escaping him like leaves in the wind.

Will could feel Hannibal smiling against the top of his head. "Lacking in female participants?" he guessed.

Will huffed out a sleepy laugh. "I was going to say something more like 'experienced.' Too good. Not enough fumbling."

"I'll try harder to appear inexperienced next time," Hannibal promised.

"No, you won't."

"Probably not." Hannibal stroked his side for a moment, nearly reverent. "There were no fireworks."

Will couldn't help himself; he opened his eyes, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head up to try and catch Hannibal's eye. "Maybe not for _you_."

Hannibal pinched him, and Will knew the sensation of falling asleep laughing for the first time since he could remember.


End file.
